


i'm sorry.

by StarXrossed



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarXrossed/pseuds/StarXrossed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He let his inner demons get the better of him, and he's not the only one affected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR CHAPTER TWO SPOILERS, approach with caution.

It takes Mondo a few seconds to realize what happened.  
  
He’s standing in the men’s weight room.  Right.  He was here with Chihiro.  She asked him to come.  Okay, that part’s clear.  
  
There’s something heavy in his hand.  His hand tightens around it and he looks down.  It’s a dumbbell.  Okay, that’s not weird, he was lifting weights, right?  That’s what you do in a weightroom.  More than willing to accept that.  
  
At least, until he notices the film of thick red liquid that covers one corner of the weight and the similarly colored droplets that dot the handle and his hand.    
  
Wait, what?  
  
He looks down at his shirt.  Shit, the red stuff is on there too.  What is this, he didn’t remember bringing any food in here.  Maybe Chihiro brought something—  
  
Then the gears start turning.  
  
His eyes widen, his mouth opens, his eyebrows lift up.  Slowly, everything’s slow. Everything gradually falls into place.  No.   _No._   He’s wrong.  What he’s thinking can’t be right.  There’s no way, absolutely no possible way.  He’s deluding himself.  
  
He chants this mantra in his head several times before daring to look around the room.  There.  Curled in a ball, there she is.  
  
“Hey.  Kid.”  
  
Why does he say “kid”, he never calls her that.  
  
“Yo, Fujisaki.  What’s wrong?”  
  
He’s starting to get worried—she’s just laying there on the ground.  She hasn’t stirred, even after he raised his voice.  Something’s up, something’s wrong.    
  
He kneels beside her, turns her over carefully.  Shit, the red stuff is on her too.  What the fuck is it?  It’s on her blouse and her jacket and it’s all in her face and spattered across her hair and—  
  
Shit.  
  
 _Shit._  
  
The realization hits Mondo like a eighteen-wheeler to the face.    
  
“No.  Shit,  _no_.”  He can feel the color draining from his face as he gingerly lifts her up, cradles her in his arms.  ”No.  Chihiro, no, please wake up.  Damn it.  God fucking  _damn it_ , be okay.”    
  
The tiny form in his arms doesn’t stir.  Mondo’s lips press into a hard line as he feels tears prick his lower eyelids like needles.  No.   _No_ , this is wrong, this is all fucking  _wrong_.  The events are playing back in his mind, and he remembers everything, watching it play back.  It’s not clear, like watching through a thick haze, but it’s obvious what he did, the way he snapped, reeled back, swung his arm forward, the barbell in his hand, the dull crunching sound from the  
weight as it struck, a sound he knows all too well—  
  
 _No.  NO._   His breath catches, no, God  _no_ , it wasn’t him, he didn’t do it.  There’s no way.    
  
But there she is, soft and cold and motionless.  There’s no rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.  Her brow is furrowed, her eyes wide and vacant, her lips parted slightly.  Oh God, she looks like she’s asking  _why_.  
  
Mondo feels the floor drop out from under him, the walls float away, everything is gone and the world is confined to just him and Chihiro in this moment in time, that’s it, that’s all there is.  And he just cradles her and holds her close and rocks her back and forth, oh God, no, this is wrong, this is so  _wrong_.  Nothing about this is right.    
  
And he’s touching her face and shaking her gently, all the while murmuring “no, please, Chihiro, please wake up, please, no, don’t fucking joke around right now no please I’m so fucking sorry so sorry oh my god”.  He touches her head, cringes as his hand comes away stained with red.  No, no, it’s not a cut, there’s too much blood for that, it’s everywhere, there’s an obvious indention— _no_ , it’s more than that, it’s deep and caved in and flecked with something pink and grey and oh god, her hair is a matted mess of brown and red.  Oh, god,  _no_ , Chihiro, please.  He brushes her hair away from her face, her perfect face, delicate like a porcelain doll, the color of cream, marred with angry splattered red.  He strokes her cheek, and suddenly there’s water.  Where the hell is that water coming from.  And then he realizes, the water is tears.   _His_  tears.  Shit, he’s crying.  ”Chihi, fuck, I’m so sorry.”  It comes out strangled, gagged, and he doesn’t try and hold back, lets the tears roll freely.    
  
He’s only dealt with something like this before, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.  God, if anything, it makes it  _worse_.  He was in the same position then, too, cradling his brother’s body as he screamed until he was hoarse, weeping, begging Daiya to come back, that he was sorry, so  _fucking_  sorry, that it was his fault, he should have gone,  _Daiya you motherfucker come back this wasn’t want he wanted_.  
  
And now here he is, years later, clinging to another body and shaking and sobbing and regretting everything.  It’s his fault.  It’s  _all_  his fault; it was then, and it is now.  God, he murmurs things, “please wake up, please, you’re gonna be okay, Chihiro please don’t, don’t fucking leave me, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” but she’s gone.  She’s cold and stiff and  _gone_.  She can’t hear him.  She can’t open her eyes and smile and tell him “hey, Oowada-san, it’s okay, I’m all right, really”.  And even if she could, she wouldn’t.  Because it’s not all right.  None of this is all right.  
  
God, he was supposed to  _protect_  her.  He said he would.  Fuck, she  _trusted_  him, and he snapped and caved her beautiful head in just because he couldn’t deal with his own goddamn inner demons.  She was so tiny, so dainty and fragile, like a little sapling.  And he was a fucking chainsaw that relentlessly hacked her down.  And he hates himself for it, god, he does, whether he meant to or not, he did it, he killed her, he took her life and ripped it to shreds, left a small bloodied shell of a human in his wake and god let this be some kind of nightmare let him wake up and find out everything’s okay, Chihiro’s okay, none of this happened.  
  
But it’s not a nightmare, he knows it, he doesn’t delude himself for long.  He takes one of her hands in his—they’re so  _tiny_  compared to his own, god, everything about her is tiny and delicate and fragile and shit he’s crying again, tears staining his face and hers as they fall.  He kisses her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, but everything’s cold, everything’s foreign, everything “Chihiro” about her is gone and all that’s left is her body and this is all wrong everything is wrong.  
  
But in all his murmuring and clinging her close to him, he starts remembering where he is.  What he’s doing.  What’s happened.  What  _will_ happen.  Shit.  He needs to get her out of here.    
  
No.    
  
Him.  
  
Get  _him_  out of here.  He made a goddamn promise.  A promise between  _men_.  And be damned if he wasn’t going to uphold it.    
  
He cringes, knows what he has to do.    
  
He hesitantly pulls away from Chihiro, sets him down on the ground, quietly sneaks out of the room—he hates leaving him even for a second, but it’s necessary, imperative if he plans on keeping his promise—heads down the hall to the main entrance foyer.  There they are, nestled in a bin.    
  
The ID cards of their deceased classmates.    
  
Mondo’s lips press into a tight line.  He’s been here before, when he swapped out his own ID card for Kuwata’s after it broke.  Now he plucks one of the girls’ cards from the bin.  He needs it.  He has to keep his promise.    
  
When he comes back into the weight room, he sets to work, peeling the blood-spattered poster off the wall, rolling up the carpet, shifting equipment.  He swipes the girl’s ID card, totes the materials inside, repeats the process with the carpet and poster in the other weightroom.  With everything adjusted properly, he returns to the men’s weightroom, gingerly hoists the small boy into his arms, lays him down gently on the red-stained carpet, moves his limbs so it almost looks like he’s sleeping.  God, Mondo wishes he was.  He notices the ID card sticking out of the folds of Chihiro’s skirt and after a moment’s hesitation, he plucks the card up and tucks it in his jacket.  Monobear said the cards show everyone’s genders.  Biological genders.  Be damned if Mondo was going to break his promise.  He would toss it in the sauna, that would get rid of that problem.    
  
He leans over Chihiro, presses his lips to his forehead one final time, before gently closing those big hazel eyes.  He knows what has to happen next.  And he’s okay with it.  He deserves it, and he knows it, and he’s comes to terms with it all.    
  
“Chihiro, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs.  ”But…but, I make it up to you, I swear.    
  
“I’ll see you soon, Chihiro.”


End file.
